


His Favourite Christmas Story

by ToxicLxrry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Story, I guess old harry too, M/M, Songfic, but happy, dying of old age, happy christmas ??, it's kinda sad i guess, lorry driver, old man louis, reunited, who didn't go bald for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:08:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicLxrry/pseuds/ToxicLxrry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T'was the night before Christmas</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Favourite Christmas Story

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song with the same name by Capital Lights

There’s a soft knock on the door and the man, who has been sitting by the fire, remembering his life on the road, driving lorrys across the country time and time again, never having a place to call home other than the back of the cabin, stands up and makes his way over to it. He’s still relatively young, still three years away from sixty, and moves around without much trouble. For someone having spent most of their life sitting behind the wheel, driving for hours on end and eating at diners or out of paper bags, he’s in remarkably good shape and he’s yet to start shrinking, something he might have his short stature to thank for. 

 

There’s another knock on the door and before he opens it he checks his wrist to see what time it is, his blue eyes getting a little brighter when he notices that the smaller arm actually does stand on two. Opening the door, he’s met by a choir of “Merry christmas Mr. T!” and “Can we hear your christmas story?” and he can’t help but smile. As he steps aside, nine kids between the ages of three and thirteen pile into his entry hall, taking their jackets and shoes and hats off as quickly as possible before hurrying into the livingroom. The older pulls their younger siblings by the hand and the man follows, sitting down in the armchair by the fire, watching the children sit down in front of him. There are a few moments of silence and the one of them speaks up. 

“Tell us a christmas story.” the girl, one with gorgeous green eyes and blond curls almost reaching down to her bum, says and the other nods in agreement. “Tell us your favourite christmas story, please Mr. T.” they all love listening to the man’s stories about his life, about the adventures he had as he drove across the country, all alone in the middle of the night. They love hearing about the people he met and the places he’s been to, but their favourite story is by far his Christmas story, the one he’s about to tell them. And so, as the man clears his throat they all lean forward a bit, almost as if they’re scared to miss a word he says, even though the older kids could quote it word for word since he always tells it the same. 

“It was Christmas eve 1937 and I had stopped in a small town for the night…” 

~ 

_ It’s already late when he enters the diner, shaking his head to rid himself of the snow that has landed in his brown hair. For a small diner in a small town on Christmas eve, the room is surprisingly crowded but despice this no heads turn to look at him as he enters. That disappoints a part of him, a much more childish part compared to the rest of him, since he would have liked it to be as in all those movies he’s seen where the crowd all turns to look at the newcomer who has just entered. But no one does and he makes his way over to a small table unnoticed, taking his coat off and grabbing a menu to look at it. It has become somewhat of a tradition of his to always get whatever he might fancy from the menu on Christmas eve, his birthday. He has spent far more of them away from home lately and when you are stuck somewhere, in a small town where no one knows your name or that it is in fact your birthday you take what you can get, even if it does leave you with fewer pounds in your pocket than you had hoped for.  _

 

_ It only takes him about half an hour to notice the young man sitting on a table across the room. Most of the tables has been pushed to the walls to create a kind of dancefloor and the man he’s watching must be tall considering that Louis can see him all the way from here, sitting down behind the crowd that are watching the people dancing. He watched the breathtakingly beautiful man whilst he eats, hardly noticing the taste of the food he ordered. The man has a small, red bow in his hair and it somehow manages to intensify everything about him. His green eyes seem greener, his lips seem softer and his dark hair seem curlier. And Louis knows it’s wrong, the man must be at least ten years younger than him and he doesn’t even know his name. He’s sitting there, staring at him like some sort of creep, and if he’s not careful he could very well get kicked out for that. But as it is, carefulness has never been part of Louis’ character and he’s sure the young man catches him staring at least a few times.  _

 

_ It might very well be because of that he ends up on the edge on the dancefloor at a quarter till eleven on Christmas eve, in a small town somewhere far from home, and if he were to find out that there had been something magical about the young man or his tiny red bow he would not at all be surprised. While he might not be very good at being careful and while he might get extremely curious about things sometimes, Louis rarely does something about that so what he’s doing now, crossing the dancefloor and walking up to the young man, would be considered as highly uncharacteristic. But he does, and not only does he walk up to the man, he also asks him to dance and even though the man has every opportunity to turn him down and then laugh with his friends about it, he says yes.  _

 

_ Louis loses track of time as they twirl around on the dancefloor with the carolers singing in the background and the pair around them becoming fewer and fewer as the hours go by. And then suddenly he’s back in his truck, sitting behind the wheel staring out into the night with a smile on his lips, not realising until later that he never caught the young boy’s name.  _

_ ~  _

The now 53 years old man leans back in his chair, resting his eyes on the group of kids sitting in front of him. some with their mouths slightly open and some leaning against their siblings. He has come to love these children almost as if they were his own and he regrets that he never took the time to settle down, even though he doubts he’d be happy with a woman by his side. Ever since that night he’s thought of the man, looking for the sparkling green eyes in crowds and hoping to catch a glimpse of the red bow again. 

“Mr Tomlinson?” it’s a young boy this time, sitting close to the fire and looking at him with wide eyes. “Tell us how you got your nickname.” and Louis smiles, remembering. 

“That, young man, was a few years after I met the mysterious boy.” he says, stopping to have a sip of water. “I was having Christmas dinner, and if I remember correctly I was having pancakes this year, in a diner much like the one I met the boy in. I was the only customer there, save from an old lady sleeping in a booth, and the young girl working there was surprisingly happy. She didn’t seem to mind working on Christmas eve, not in the slightest, and as she came to gather my plates she asked me to tell her a Christmas story.” he pauses again and his eyes lands on one of the girls in the back. She reminds him of the waitress and he smiles at her before continuing. “I told her the same one I told you just now and I think she really liked it. And after that it became sort of a tradition, every holiday season as I travelled I’d make sure to tell the story of my mysterious Christmas dance partner.”

“It became a tradition like when you buy anything you want for your birthday dinner?” a young boy says and Louis nods.

“Exactly, and that’s how I became known as the Christmas story telling travelling man.” the children all clap their hands and he once again can’t help but smile. Soon thereafter they all leave, having Christmas dinners with their families to go to, and he watch them run down the street from his porch, smiling to himself. 

~

Twenty years later Louis is laying in a hospital bed, staring out through the window. The winter has been unusually cold and it has been snowing all night, something he’s made sure to keep track on since he just happens to have a room with a view of nothing but a street light, something he does not mind at all. It seems almost ironic, dying on the same day as you were born, but he knows it is his time and he has no regrets but one. He wishes with all his heart that he had asked for the young man’s name all those years ago. How many nights has he not spent wondering how his life would have been had he only asked that simple question. And now here he is, alone and dying in a hospital with no one there to comfort him, The children who used to listen to his stories are long gone and he never had anyone else, no friends and no family. 

“Can I get you anything Louis?” the soft voice coming from the doorway makes him turn his head and his eyes lands on the nurse standing there. The man, younger than him but not much, is tall and the hair on his head is still growing thick, although it has turned almost completely grey, and Louis has always liked him. 

“Yes…” his own voice is weak, weak and thick almost as if he is about to cry. “if it’s not too much to ask, do you think you could tell me a Christmas story? I always did like those” 

“Of course.” the man smiles and walks over to sit down next to the bed, taking his hand in his own and clearing his throat. “This was back in 1937” he begins, following Louis’ gaze out the window. “Back in the town where I grew up. We always had a Christmas dance at a diner on Christmas eve and I loved it, it was my favourite day of the year, even better than Christmas day. And this year turned out to be even better that the ones before and the ones after because there was this man…” Louis’ heart skips a beat and he feels a lump starting to form in his throat because there is something so painfully familiar about the man’s story. “He came up to me at a quarter till eleven, asking me to dance and we ended up dancing until the diner closed. He was a travelling man, a lorry driver I think, and I never caught his name but that night I loved him all the same and I think a part of me still does.” and now there are tears in Louis’ eyes as he watches the snow falling outside and there is a beautiful irony to his whole life, finally finding the man he’s looked for for so many years in his last hour of life, literally. “I’m so glad he got the courage to ask me to dance.” and those are the last words Louis hears. He goes to sleep with tears running down his pale cheeks to land on the pillow, with the warm, big hand holding his own and with the knowledge that he did find the love of his life, be it a little too late. 


End file.
